


Exploit

by mayalinified



Series: All Night [5]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Angry Sex, M/M, Mentions of exhibitionism, Prostitute Bucky, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, there's a lot going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayalinified/pseuds/mayalinified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris extends his hand to Steve and he hesitates before shaking it. His eyes on are still on Bucky, who’s looking away at some other conversation, too disinterested to pay attention to what’s happening in front of him.</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” Chris says. “Oh and this is one of my interns, Jake. He’s my plus one for the evening.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exploit

**Author's Note:**

> Only one more part to go after this! Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! As always comments/kudos/messages on tumblr are always welcome! 
> 
> I did a lot of research about art museums and plug play...I'm not sure how my life ended up here.
> 
> I started a tag (All Night Series) for this where I'll post updates and snippets as I go along. Feel free to check it out and as always you can find me at infinitygauntlets.tumblr.com!
> 
> Now complete with a playlist!!!
> 
> http://infinitygauntlets.tumblr.com/post/87759182724/all-night-series-a-playlist-x-rated-e

The invitation had come in a gold envelope and Steve couldn’t decide if it was haughty or tacky.

 **The Fire Department of the City of New York**  
 _would like to formally invite you to  
_ The 11th Annual Firefamilies Benefit Gala __  
6 PM  
April 15th  
The Great Hall  
Metropolitan Museum of Art  


Of course it was an honor to be invited to the fundraiser; invitations usually went to sponsors and captains. He would have been going anyway, but now, when he buys his seat, it’ll be at a table with important people rather than the table with his company of ladder 45. Perks of winning the service award two years in a row.

The nicest suit he has is a slate blue, neatly cut with satin trimmed lapels. He puts on a black tie, black dress shoes he never really had the occasion to wear other than weddings or funerals. He sees Sam first when he enters ballroom.

“Steve,” he shouts, waving him over. Natasha appears from behind him in a draping, shimmering black number. Black had always been her color. He hair is down, an uncommon sight, and she has the curls pinned back on one side.

“Hey Steve,” she says with a smirk. Her and Sam had already found where they were giving out the champagne. Which turns out to be an honest-to-god fountain, like it’s alcoholic fondue or something.

“Hi,” he replies to them, giving an awkward smile and rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. He’d never liked anything that put him in the spotlight. This many people, this formal. He could go running head first into burning buildings. This was one thing he couldn’t brave.

“You look good,” Sam grins, clapping him on the bicep with a laugh. “Stop lookin’ like you’re gonna crawl out of your skin, you’re scaring the kids.” That manages to make Steve chuckle, easing him a bit.

“Thanks, Sam. So do you and Tasha.”

Natasha grins, nudges him with her elbow, “I found your name already, you’re up with the captains. Promise you won’t forget about us little people? Y’know, when we start calling you _captain_ Rogers.”

Sam laughs, “Yeah put in a good word huh? I need a raise.”

He brushes them both off with a laugh, “Shut up. I don’t have nearly enough grey hair to be captain.”

In solidarity, they walk over to Steve’s table together. Sam is naturally the most outgoing and he gets the conversation started with the captains as the mingle by the table.  As people are filling the room their small crowd gets bigger. Steve’s making small talk, letting the chiefs introduce him to the sponsors. Most of them are bankers or CEOs and Steve feels like he’s shaken hands with half of Wall Street by the time he’s finally allowed to settle into comfortable conversation.

“Hey Steve,” Sam says. “You gotta let this guy tell you about the set up he has in his penthouse…”

Everything drowns out after that.

When he turns around and sees Bucky standing between Sam and a clean cut white guy in his fifties, the first thing that he feels is anger. It burns in him. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass, and his face must show it too because Sam grabs his shoulder with a concern that makes Steve remember himself immediately.

“Hey you alright man?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Headache sorry.”

The second thing he feels is confusion. Bucky’s looking right through him, smiling pleasantly in a suit he probably couldn’t afford, drinking a glass of water because he was decidedly below the legal drinking age. Steve knits his brow, looking at Bucky because Bucky is acting like he’d never seen Steve in his life.

Sam looks to the older man, “This is my friend Steve Rogers. He’s up with the bigwigs cause he won some award two years runnin’.” He gives a playful roll of his eyes and then turns to Steve. “This is Chris Whitman.”

Chris extends his hand to Steve and he hesitates before shaking it. His eyes on are still on Bucky, who’s looking away at some other conversation, too disinterested to pay attention to what’s happening in front of him.

“Nice to meet you,” Chris says. “Oh and this is one of my interns, Jake. He’s my plus one for the evening.”

Steve shakes Chris’ hand, giving him a genuine and pleasant smile. Then he turns to Bucky for a handshake, and the smile turns sour. Bucky is with a client. A client in his fifties trying to pass off Bucky as a fucking intern named _Jake_. He probably got off on that sort of thing. Steve’s eyes flash over with the image of Bucky getting backed up against a desk, bent over it...

“That’s a pretty big deal. Getting to come to something like this. I mean you’re pretty lucky.” Steve’s voice is too sharp.

Bucky grins lazily and shakes his head, his eyes - which are finally on Steve with some sort of attention - are bright. He’s playing this part well. Jake, or whoever the hell he’s supposed to be. He shakes his hand so eagerly Steve thinks he might break it off.

“I can’t believe it either, Mr. Rogers.” _Mr. Rogers_. That smile could get eskimos to buy ice. He glances at Chris. “When Mr. Whitman invited me...well I almost thought it was a prank. See I’m not…”

He laughs and his eyes get hooded with something. It makes Steve’s stomach twist into a knot. “Well I’m not exactly from this crowd. I’m usually the kind who has to _work_ for their money or opportunities. Nothing for free right?”

Steve feels like he could either vomit or shout. Neither would be the best idea. Apologizing would be. But with how awkward they’ve managed to make it after about twenty-six seconds of interaction, pulling him aside like he knows him might make things even more conspicuous.

Luckily, Chris laughs and interjects, slapping Bucky - Jake - on his back. “He works hard enough. Trust me. He definitely earned an evening out where he’s not answering phones or organizing my calendar.”

Bucky grins and looks to Chris. “Or sorting the mail. But it’s not all bad, really. I like working for Chris. It’s a great opportunity to get my foot in the door this early on in my career y’know?”

Sam nods, “Oh I know. Once upon a time I thought I’d be millionaire working in some high rise in midtown…” He shrugs. “I also thought I’d be like that Angel dude from the X-Men, but we both know people can’t fly.”

It might have been believable that Bucky was an intern if it weren’t for the fact that Chris’ hand still hadn’t left his back. Bucky seems more than comfortable with it, even though he remains standing completely still, back to searching the room. Maybe Chris is a regular, maybe he’s used to having his hands all over Bucky’s body enough that it’s completely comfortable to both of them. Suddenly Steve is imagining scenarios where Bucky had come to him just after leaving Chris’, going to Chris’ after leaving him. Before he thought that freshly fucked thing turned him on, now it makes something like flames lick at the inside of his stomach.

Chris laughs with Sam, nodding. “I can admire a man with big dreams. And it’s no less impressive what you two do now. Firemen. I couldn’t do something so brave.”

Sam laughs, “Aw shucks it’s nothin’.” He nudges Steve with his shoulder, making him stumble slightly. Steve grins and shakes his head, but everything he says feels so forced he wants to drown himself in the champagne fountain.

“We’re just doing what’s right.” Bucky’s eyes flick to him then, and one of his eyebrows quirk slightly. As if he’s trying to point out that the right thing didn’t mean fucking an underage prostitute for an extended period of time. Like Steve needed the reminder of just how fucking _wrong_ that was.

So Steve continues, “We’re still human though. Sometimes we make the wrong call. Things get messed up.”

Sam glances at him, “Uh...yeah. I mean, it’s happened, but we don’t dwell on that sort of thing.”

Bucky is glaring at him now. Steve isn’t sure anyone else is noticing the way he’s regarding Steve, like he wants to punch his teeth into his throat. Steve feels terrible, but that feeling is at equal footing with just how pissed off he is that Bucky is even here and looking like that at him in the first place.

“Yeah we don’t dwell. We learn from our mistakes and we don’t make them again.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, laughing uncomfortably. “That’s good. That’s a good way to look at things. I like to treat business that way, too. Not like I’m doing anything as brave as either of you are. But, sometimes mistakes are made, people get hurt or lose things that are important to them…”

“But it’s just business. I might not be a seasoned professional like Chris, but I know getting too caught up can make things complicated.” Bucky interjects. He’s looking directly at Steve now, and Chris looks down at him with a scowl. He puts the hand that was on his back onto his shoulder the way a father might when he’s trying to silently reprimand his son.

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, glaring back at Bucky, matching his intensity. “Can’t get your feelings too wrapped up can you? Can’t handle business, never got the hang of doing things without caring too much about the people involved.”

Bucky narrows his eyes slightly. He’s angry. Furious really, from the way his eyes go that frozen sort of blue that Steve hadn’t seen before the last time they’d fucked. But now he doesn’t remember any other color they’d been before other than cold.

Steve is angry, too.

He’s really angry.

Sam puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and squeezes, “You’ve had too much to drink, man.” He laughs. “Look I just brought Chris over to tell you about the home theater he had going for himself. Steve here hasn’t seen very many movies, I’ve been giving him an education.”

Finally, Bucky looks away. He drinks from his glass, nods at Chris slightly so his shoulder is released. Chris tightens his jaw, then looks back at Sam and Steve with the most practiced fake smile Steve’s ever seen in his life.

“We’ll have to talk about it during the after party,” he says. “We ought to go take our seat. It was nice meeting you both.” That smile starts to fade before he even turns around and Steve feels something he wants to tear out of himself with his fingernails.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, man?” Sam asks under his breath. He takes the flute from Steve’s hand and sets it half full on the tray of a passing waiter. “No more champ for you. You need some water.”

Steve shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the backs of Bucky and Chris as they walk to the their table through the crowd. He mumbles, “Sorry. I’m fine. Just...you know how I get at these things.” He can’t seem to shake the images of Chris touching Bucky, making him arch and whine the way he had done before. “I have a headache.”

Gently, Sam rubs at his neck. It’s calming. Sam was always good at calming Steve down. “Just relax. Everybody loves you here. You’re their golden boy. Never a bad deed Steve, right?” That nickname was a joke at the Ladder. It seemed a little ironic now that he was very clearly jealous of some millionaire sugardaddy getting to fuck an eighteen year old prostitute instead of him.

“I’m just gonna go sit,” Steve says with a sigh. He rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Keep your phone on you. I’m gonna text you and Nat through this thing since I can’t hear your one liners from the captain’s table.” He manages a laugh and Sam laughs, too. Before walking off, he gives Steve one more clap on the shoulder for support. Though he’s not as nervous now about sitting with a bunch of the higher-ups.

Because now his biggest issue is that he’s sat parallel to Bucky. Really he could hit him with a bread roll square on the ear if he tried to - a really childish part of him wants to. Their chairs are both facing towards the stage and Chris sits on the other side of Bucky.

And Steve can see the way Chris’ hand drifts into Bucky’s lap. Over his thigh.

“Welcome everyone to the Fire Department of New York Eleventh Annual Firefamilies Benefit Gala!”

People start to clap, he does and Bucky does. Chris, however, does not. Steve tries to keep his attentions ahead as the host addresses the audience, but his eyes keep drifting back to their corners. To Bucky’s lap.

Nobody else can see the way Chris’ hand is flat against the front of Bucky’s trousers. Nobody can see the way he moves his palm in tight circles, flexes his forearm as he grips Bucky through the fabric. Steve’s mouth is dry and he’d move to take the glass of water off the table if he could possibly get his hands to cooperate.

He calls for them, and calls for his eyes to go back to the stage, but he’s stuck on Bucky’s now slightly open mouth. On his chest that rises and falls in short, sharp, huffs of breath. The long lashes that frame the blue flutter against his cheeks just almost imperceptibly. Bucky is doing a much better job of focusing on the stage than he is. But his fingers are gripping hard at the fabric of his pants, and the muscles of his thighs are taught. Steve watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat. Obstructed by Bucky’s profile, he can see that Chris is leaned in and speaking close to his ear.

“Are you alright, Rogers?”

One of the captains reaches over and grabs his shoulder. He’s a white haired man, usually stern, but now his face is colored with concern. Steve hasn’t even realized how hard he’s been digging his fingers into the edge of the table.

“Y-yeah,” he says, looking to the captain. “Sorry, sir. I’m just not feeling well.”

Steve looks back to Bucky, who is gone from his chair at the table. He searches the room quickly, and spots him exiting through the rear doors.

“Maybe you oughta get some fresh air?” The captain says. “Might do ya some good. You look faint.”

He nods, “Yeah, I’m gonna...do that.”

The rear doors lead out to the lobby, and the staircase that provides access to the balcony that overlooks the Great Hall. Sometimes the reception would spill over to the balcony, usually during the after party and there was a set up there for that occasion. He catches only a glimpse of Bucky as he ascends one of the staircases.

“Hey,” he calls after him. He breaks into a jog to catch up to him, reaching the bottom of the stairs before Bucky gets to the top.

Bucky pauses and glances back over his shoulder. He’s smiling, presumably because he thinks he’s been caught by one of the catering staff sneaking off to a part of the party that was still off limits. That smile fades instantly when he sees it’s Steve.

“What the fuck do you want?” he mumbles, turning back around.

Steve takes the stairs two at a time, catching Bucky by the shoulder and hissing under his breath.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?”

The question is acknowledged with a jagged stare; narrowed eyes and a slight curl of his lip. He pulls his shoulder away from Steve’s hand dramatically.

“I’m with a client, what does it look like?”

Steve flexes his jaw. He knows his temper is slowly slipping out the grasp of his control. But this is _bullshit_.

“Oh really? Cause there’s no possible chance _I_ would be at a fire department benefit? Bucky these are the people I work with. If they found out abo-”

“You’re the one making it an issue!” Bucky hisses back. He yanks Steve by the forearm, pulls him behind one of the pillars supporting an arch. There are a few catering people mulling around, putting centerpieces on cocktail tables. Where Bucky pulls the two of them is out of sight.

He continues to whisper, “I was fine. I acted like I didn’t even know you. You’re the one who started making all that weird conversation about making the wrong choice. What the hell was that? Are you _trying_ to make people suspicious?”

Steve grits his teeth, looking at him incredulously, “Are you just here to mess with me? Because I’m the one who deserves to be angry.”

Bucky scoffs, “Oh because I’m eighteen? You know if the thing you’re most concerned about is sleeping with a seventeen year old then you should probably sort yourself out. You know what’s not illegal, Steve? Having sex with a seventeen year old. You know what is? Prostitution.”  

“I tried to ask you. You avoided the question.”

“Oh my god. Seriously? You are the _only_ client I’ve had who gives a shit about how old I am.”

“Well maybe I have morals.”

“Bullshit. You care too much.”

Steve boils over. Because he knows Bucky is right.

“I’m the one who tried to pay you for the other night. I tried to put distance back between us and you stormed out on me.”

“Oh fuck you. Fuck you, Steve. Seriously. I went home with you and had sex with you and stayed in your bed until morning with you spooning me like we’re damn boyfriends. And you offered to _pay_ for me. I didn’t-” He shakes his head, laughing bitterly. “You weren’t a client.”

Steve lets his eyes drift closed. He wanted this all along. Really that was the closest he’d hope to expect of Bucky admitting that whatever the hell this was - if you could call it a professional relationship - had drifted out of the boundaries it was set to have. But at the same time, the whiplash he’s experiencing has him feeling like he might burst out of his own skin with frustration.

“What do you want from me Bucky? I try to put some distance between us and you get angry. I try to get close to you and you’re still not happy.”

He’s admitting he was trying to get close and it feels like diving into open water. Bucky just rolls his eyes and that manages to piss off Steve even more.

Bucky kisses him so fast he doesn’t even see him leaning in. It’s just the sudden crash of lips and teeth, Bucky shoving him back into the pillar.

It’s dramatic. Following along the lines of their too-much-like-a-romance-movie relationship. Now the two leads fight. One lead quiets the other with a kiss, too overcome with emotion to continue to talk. Cue swell of the orchestra. Fade to black.

Except this is still not romantic. It’s still the opposite. Romance doesn’t mean fingernails ripping so hard at your scalp that tears start to sting your eyes. It doesn’t mean a guy half your size practically shoving you through a wall until you can’t breathe. Or your fighting back and biting at his lip hard enough to bleed.

This is a kiss, but it feels like a fight. And Steve is letting himself be strangled by the force of Bucky’s mouth pushing back against his. They both won’t make a noise, their mouths never even separate enough for the wet sound of lips on lips to reverberate through the silent hall.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He’s not sure what the fuck this is going to resolve or what it’s even supposed to mean. But the fact that he can taste Bucky gasping with his tongue makes the reasonable part of him either drowned out or dead.

Bucky’s eyes are open when Steve finally looks at him. They keep kissing, keep tasting and biting while Bucky stares back. He still looks angry, like he wants to rip out Steve’s throat. But he looks like he wants this. He looks like he’s challenging Steve to go further. Like he wants him to keep pushing, pushing, pushing just so he can push right back.

He can feel the squeeze of Bucky’s hand on his dick before he has time to realize that Bucky’s managed to get a hand between them in the first place. He can’t stop himself from moaning into his mouth and bucky silences him with another kiss.

Steve leans away, gripping Bucky’s wrist so hard he could crush it if he wanted.

“Coat check,” he mutters, glancing to his right. “Come here.”

He doesn’t wait for Bucky to agree before he pulls him along to the door down the hall. The coat check downstairs was the only one being used. The one on the balcony level sat vacant and - thank god - unlocked.

There’s no protest from Bucky as he’s pulled inside.

The room is about the size of a large walk-in closet and designed the same way. Around the edges there are rolling racks of hangers, all empty of the coats that would usually fill them. Only one wall doesn’t have a rack in front of it. Steve slams Bucky into that one.

Really it’s Bucky that throws the momentum into turning around that makes it so Steve pushes him into it, but the strained noise he makes when he hits knocks the air out of Steve’s chest. He kisses Bucky again, so hard that he nearly over-powers him. He would, too, if Bucky wasn’t fighting back is much as he is.

Hands yank at Steve’s clothes, pull at his shirt so it comes untucked from his pants. Steve grabs his wrists, biting at his mouth when he shoves them up above his head. Bucky arches, trying to break free, but Steve is stronger and bigger, he has the leverage to render Bucky defenseless.

He looks down at him and pants so hard against his mouth that he can’t imagine Bucky getting any air in to breathe. “Buck.”

Bucky struggles, shifting, “Don’t call me that.” He manages to lean up enough to kiss Steve again and it’s the exact opposite of loving. Steve grits his teeth. They’re still both whispering, trying to be quiet. It’s practically impossible.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses. Without thinking he pushes his hips forward. Against Bucky’s so the lines of their cocks meet and slide over one another.

“You hard already?” Bucky asks, laughing under his breath. As if he needed to _fucking_ ask that question.

“Shuddup,” Steve mumbles. He presses against him again, twists his hips in a tight circle until he can feel Bucky’s open mouth drag over his lips. “ _You_ hard already?” That question doesn’t need asking either.

“Might’ve been Chris jacking me off under the table,” Bucky breathes. He pushes his hips back, grinding up against Steve so slow it makes him groan. “I know you were looking.”

Steve feels the heat of shame sting at his cheeks. He wants to pull away, but the way Bucky’s using his whole body, even with his wrists still pinned, just to get his cock rubbing up against Steve’s is too perfect to walk away from. He looks down, watching those hips move, the shirt he’s wearing coming untucked with every pass.

“Do you like watching me with other guys, Steve? You know you could pay for that? I’m sure Chris wouldn’t mind showing off for you.”

Bucky cannot be actually suggesting that with even an ounce of sincerity. Steve cannot seriously be entertaining that idea in his imagination. He thinks of Bucky, looking at him with those eyes, that melted blue, mouth slack and letting whimpers escape for Steve to hear. But this time he isn’t the one cause them. Now he’s just sitting back, watching some other faceless guy fuck Bucky so hard that he’s near sobbing every time there’s a smack of skin on skin. There’s something so perfect about that image, and something that makes Steve so sickeningly possessive that it’s pure reflex alone that has him sucking bruises into Bucky’s neck.

“St- _ah_. What are you trying to mark your territory?” Steve can hear Bucky trying to catch that whimper in the back of his throat. It comes out a shallow breath, and Bucky is bearing his neck to him like he wants more.

And Steve doesn’t answer the question, but he gives Bucky what he wants. His teeth graze his jaw up to his ear, where he bites on the lobe just hard enough to make Bucky whine. His hips move against Steve’s more urgently, and he’s sure he can feel Bucky’s knees shaking.

“He’ll ask where I got these. They weren’t here wh- _shit_.”

“When?”

He stops entirely. Steve can’t believe how low his own voice has gotten.

“What you think he paid for me and shoved me in this suit without fooling around with me a little?”

Bucky’s tone is so fucking flippant. Steve shoves his hips forward and pins Bucky’s with them. There’s a hell of a struggle, but Bucky can’t possibly manage to get free with Steve using all his body weight like this.

“What did you do?”

The whine is so soft, but Steve can hear it right up against his ear. He’s mouthing at Bucky’s neck, but gently now. Soft kisses and slow closures of his teeth around sensitive skin. He’s never usually _this_ rough. He’s never pinned anyone like this, teased them. It’s slightly out of his comfort zone, but at the moment he can’t remember where exactly the comfort zone is located.

“Hasn’t fucked me yet. Sucked my dick at his place and made me suck his in the car. H-he…”

His voice is shaking. He’s trying to move his hips again.

“He’s playing a game. I only get fucked once I’ve made it through the night.”

Steve can’t help the little smirk that pushes at his lips. “That bad of a night?”

“No,” Bucky says. Steve can hear that smile on his lips. “He put a plug in me.”

 _Jesus Christ_.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Steve pulls back, looks Bucky right in the eye. And he’s staring back at him already, with a shit eating grin so wide that it makes Steve’s dick lurch uncomfortably in his tight dress pants. He shifts slightly, grinding their hips. Bucky gasps.

“When I got dressed he watched me. Told me to get on my back and open myself up.” Bucky with that sardonic little grin. He’s toying with Steve now, pressing his hips up, because he knows Steve can’t keep himself still listening to this. “He just sat back and watched me fuck myself open with my fingers. Didn’t even touch his dick once.”

How it’s possible to hang on every word and beg to go deaf at the same time is a mystery to Steve.

“Then he just walked over, pushed my legs up and slipped it in. That what you want to hear? Or you want to hear how much I loved it? Cause I did.” He exhales shakily. Whispering a little louder. “ _I fucking loved it_.”

They’re still staring at one another, Steve hasn’t managed to even connect with his brain enough to _think_ about looking away. Their hips press against each other, moving just enough to make the both of them pant against each other’s mouths.

Steve feels like he might burn to death, he’s so hot in this suit jacket and the shirt is starting to choke him around the neck. Everything feels like it’s smothering him. Even his thoughts which remind him just how _fucked_ this is, how young Bucky is, how completely and utterly depraved he is for getting to this point. And this point is marked distinctly by the way he wants to make Bucky his. How he wants to show Bucky just how good he can be and how he’s better than Chris and all the other fucking guys who have touched him before. It’s such a macho, stupid mentality to have, but it’s the only thing that rattles around in his empty head - the rest of reason decided to vacate the second he went after Bucky in the first place.

That stupid, morally questionable, and unbelievably convincing side of him gets his hands down on Bucky’s belt. He gets his pants undone so fast, he’s impressed with himself. More impressed though, at the way Bucky obediently keeps his hands up behind his head.

Impressed might not be the right word.

Vindicated might be a little more fitting.

He spins Bucky around, catches him by his chest so he can breathe right against his ear just the way he knows Bucky likes. Bucky starts trembling the way he did that last night they were together, it makes Steve groan. He reaches down with his free hand, down between Bucky’s legs. His fingers tease from behind his balls to - sure enough - the base of the plug that still sits inside of him.

Bucky shakes even harder, starts panting shallow and arching his head back into Steve’s shoulder even more. “He’ll know if you fucked me.”

“Don’t care.”

It’s such an impulsive answer and it makes Bucky have to put his arms out against the wall to keep himself upright. He uses this new leverage to shift his hips back, push the plug against Steve’s fingers so it presses into him even more. He lets out a soft moan at that.

This time Steve’s the one with the condom. He let his forehead rest flat against the back of Bucky’s damp hair. One hand holds his hip, and the other gets it’s fingers hooked against the base of the plug.

“Breathe,” he says, and he eases the plug out slowly.

Bucky gasps, tenses up a little, then remembers all at once to breathe and relax. He pushes his head back against Steve’s, in a gentle sort of way. Exhales around the sound of Steve’s name.

There’s still enough lube that they don’t have to worry about it and Bucky is so open for him already that the prep is most for show. He puts his hand on Bucky’s chin, and as if he can read Steve’s mind, he dips his head forward and sucks on his fingers so they’re slick with his saliva. Steve uses those fingers to “prep” him. Mostly he just wants to get Bucky shaking again.

He fucks him on the side of slow, but slams his hips so hard that their skin slaps against each other in the quiet room. Bucky covers his own mouth, holding it tight so he won’t make too much noise. Steve keeps himself quiet by pressing his mouth into Bucky’s shoulder. Somehow that makes it even hotter.

And he gets exactly what he wants. Bucky is so out of control of his own body that his muscles twitch and shake without his consent. He tries to look back at Steve, but Steve is still leaned down, moaning muffled into the shoulder of his suit jacket.

He can hear his name, muffled by the palm of Bucky’s hand, trying desperately to escape past it.

Steve comes first, thrusting up into him so hard that he shoves him forward into the wall. He rides him out, leaning back and holding his hips, bottom lip between his teeth to keep himself from making a sound. Bucky just keeps his cheek flat against the wall, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye the best he can.

Eventually he pulls himself free, out of Steve’s grasp and suppressing weight. His cheek remains on the wall and he tries to catch his breath, but he’s still panting hard when he finally speaks.

“Get on your knees.”

Steve is still in his post-orgasm haze and his body moves sloppily, his mind can’t hope to work even half as well. He snaps into some sense when Bucky speaks, and he obeys, falling to his knees on the carpeted ground.

He knows he fucked up. This is fucked up. But he’s still holding the plug in his right hand, and Bucky is standing over him with his dick so hard just begging to have his mouth around it. He just wants to make him happy, he just wants to make him his.

So he sucks, bobs his head until he chokes a little because he’s not even trying to hold his gag reflex. Bucky grabs his wrist, guides it up so Steve knows what he wants. Without saying a word he moves to put the plug back in place. He won’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, he wants to watch the way he looks down at him, wants to see him _like_ the things Steve is doing to him.

And Bucky isn’t gentle. Bucky pulls at his hair so he can’t even hope to smoothe it back into place. He makes him choke a little more when he pushes his hips in. He keeps mumbling out little curses under his breath and Steve swears he can hear a “fuck you” or two.

He comes with his mouth open so pretty and his eyes don’t close all the way so Steve can still see the blue.

Steve’s still swallowing his come when Bucky starts to get dressed.

He isn’t looking at Steve. He just moves silently, pulls out his phone so he can check his hair and tie. Steve stands, using the wall for balance. He gets the condom off and ties it up, and he suddenly feels fucking disgusting. It’s pure luck there’s a trashcan in the room.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re gonna go back out to him,” Steve says. He envisions Bucky saying that he won’t. He sees him walking to Steve and wrapping arms around his neck, kissing him sweet and languidly around a smile.

But Bucky is just quiet, and his back is turned to Steve. The entire room is tilted, the air is different and the tension is like a shock of electricity - and in the painful way that aches down to your bones, makes you want to throw up and claw at your own skin.

“It’s money,” he says finally. He looks at Steve, calm. “Money I need.”

Steve tries to speak, but Bucky cuts him off.

“If you’re about to offer to pay me again… _don’t_.”

That tilt of the room, it’s heavy somehow. It’s sad and uncomfortable. Steve can’t look anywhere but his own shoes.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand again.

“Y’know, you played that wounded puppy act pretty well. Impressive. Really.” He’s being so sarcastic it sends that feeling from before lancing through Steve all over again. As if the fucking hadn’t resolved a single thing. Really, it hadn’t. In fact, it might have just made things more complicated.

He looks up at Bucky, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here. I don’t know what you want or what you’re thinking. _At all_.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, then he turns his head away entirely. “We’re starting this conversation right now. I need to go.”

 _You had enough time to fuck me_ , Steve wants to say. He narrowly succeeds in stopping himself.

The tangled up, complicated, _fucked to hell_ situation he’d gotten himself into had gotten even worse. And trying to undo the knots was one thing when you wanted to stay tied up. It’s a whole other thing when you think that other person who wants to get free too starts retying certain spots. He didn’t have to fuck Steve again. Steve didn’t have to fuck him again. But more importantly _he didn’t have to fuck Steve again_.

“Then we’re going to have it later.”

Bucky nods, “Fine.” He’s opening the door when he says it again. “Fine.”

Steve’s getting a little too used to being in rooms Bucky used to fill.

He just needs time to think. That or undergo some serious psychological therapy, because just what the _hell_ had this turned into?

He’d picked up a hooker.

He’d fallen for that hooker.

_Sent 8:23 PM: Hey, I’m gonna head home. That headache has me seeing double. See you at the station tomorrow._

There’s no cabs outside the met for some reason. So he takes the subway, and gets off three stops before his own, just so he can walk in the fresh air. He thinks about Bucky, no matter how hard he tries not to.

 


End file.
